Sacred

A year ago today, my father passed away.

It had been a really long week.  The previous Friday had been his birthday.  It was the last day he left his room in the wheelchair. It was a sad day.  Then Sunday was Christmas. All 11 adults and 5 little nephews crammed into my parents little 2 bedroom apartment trying to enjoy each other and open presents. It was a nice day, but it was hard as well.  Dad stayed in his room that day. We took turns sitting with him and spending time with him.  He was awake, but preferred sleeping to anything.

Monday or Tuesday he stopped eating. Tuesday he started groaning and grunting. It was hard to listen to. He was sometimes coherent and sometimes not. Wednesday was the last time he spoke. Wednesday night was horrible. Mom cried all night as he groaned and grunted. Thursday was worse. After the hospice nurse visited on Thursday, I called all my siblings and told them they expected him to pass within a few days.  They seemed shocked, but I really wanted him to go at that point in time.

Friday, the day he passed, mom left for about 3 hours in the middle of the day. She couldn't listen to him anymore and had to get out of the house. She came back in the late afternoon.  By then he had settled down and was breathing slowly and steadily. Two of my brothers came over with their wives and we sat in my dads room laughing and talking.  Once they showed up, he really started to breath slower.  We talked and laughed and cried together.  We held his hand, talked to him and told stories of the good times. The minutes between breaths became longer and finally about 8:30, he took his last breath and slipped from this world. 

One of my brothers is a paramedic for the fire department. He couldn't stop talking about how peaceful and calm it was.  Usually, when he sees death, it is amidst tragedy. He is pulling away a family member, trying to treat them, and leaving their loved ones behind, asking them to leave the room even.  Dad's passing wasn't like that. It was peaceful and beautiful.  I don't know if I have ever seen a dead body before that night. I can't remember seeing one.  But there was a real physical change when he passed away. I could feel his presence gone. It felt like he waited for us all to be there before going. 

Those were sacred days.  I feel the spirit now even as I write about them.  If ever I had a doubt that Heavenly Father was aware of my every need, all I have to do is remember those few weeks surrounding my dad's death. 

There was a magic window of ideal time for him to pass away.  Not that you ever want someone to pass away, but if he was going to, there was an ideal time.  On his birthday that year, he turned 62. If my dad passed away at 62 or later, my mom would be eligible for a much larger death benefit than if he died earlier.  He needed to die after Dec. 23rd.  But also, because of my dad's cancer, their catastrophic insurance had kicked in.  All of my dad's care was free at that point of time.  If his life continued into the new year, into 2012, we would have another $25,000 out of pocket expenses.  My family couldn't afford that.  So he needed to die before Jan. 1.  And so, the Lord took him on Dec. 30th.  Could it have been anymore perfect?  Could there be any doubt that Heavenly Father was aware of our needs? 

That night, when the men from the funeral home arrived to take his body, I felt extremely grateful.  Grateful for the life he led, grateful to be his daughter. grateful to have taken care of him for the last two months of his life, grateful for his example, and grateful that it was over.  Cancer is a horrible, terrible disease. I hate it. Watching him slowly whither away and die, was one of the hardest things I've ever done in my entire life.  I was grateful the experience was at an end.

The spirit that attended me the next several weeks was amazing.  Somehow, I organized a funeral, put together the program, wrote a talk, and hugged all my family and friends that came to visit. Childhood friends shows up to offer support and love. Flowers from my employer, from friends, from family continually poured into the house. I found a box in the garage labeled "Dad's Stuff", in his amazing straight block handwriting.  In it, I found the things that were most dear to him.  Every letter he wrote or received on his mission.  A stack of poetry my dad had written. I didn't even know he was a poet. My favorite was a poem he wrote about his brother Corey who died while he was on his mission.  He would never talk about death, even while dying. But here in black and yellow (they are all on yellow lined paper) was his testimony of the atonement and the resurrection.  Also in there were, his boy scout uniform from when he was a scout, as well as his eagle paperwork and every merit badge he ever earned.  I felt more connected to my dad in death than I did in life. 

In the box, I also found every letter my mom had ever written to him, starting back when they were first married. Reading those letters helped me forgive my dad more than anything else. My mom is amazing. Totally, completely amazing.  But she was emotional and immature and the daughter of an alcoholic. I started to realize, as I read those letters, that all of the things I was upset with my dad about was really years of him responding to her set of issues.  Not that he didn't have his own, but for the first time, I really got a glimpse of the issues between them and what was going on. Forgiveness came easily when I understood what was going on.

The funeral day was a long one. We started early with a viewing and hugged and talked to so many wonderful people who came to show support.  One of my favorite moments of the day was with my nephew.  He walked up to the casket, put his chin on the edge and stroked my dads face over and over again.  It was just such a tender moment.  A dear friend of the family, he practically grew up at our house, flew in just for the funeral. He flew in and flew out the same day.  I couldn't believe the number of people that came and showed their support.  It was truly amazing.  I didn't cry most of the day. I felt cried out.  It was a beautiful funeral. Probably the best I've been to.  And I don't just say that because I spoke, I say that because it was truly a celebration of his life and not just a sad time.  Something I learned at the funeral, since my brother left on his mission in 1996, my dad has supported a full time missionary every month of his life.  I didn't even know that. 

Within a few days, my mom had completely re-arranged the house, and all of his equipment was gone. It was strange, but good. I knew I needed to go home and move on as well.  And I did.  After 10 weeks taking care of my dad 24/7, I needed to get back to life. It was good but sad at the same time. I didn't want to forget him or not have him be a daily part of my life.  I wanted to honor him and love him.  I took a few pictures I found of him on his mission and framed them.  He always said that was some of the happiest times of his life.  I knew he would be happy in heaven, able to share the gospel and be a missionary.  I framed the pictures and put them on my dresser so I could look at them every day and remember how happy he is.  I shouldn't be sad because he is not.  I can guarantee that. 

The year has been difficult for many reasons.  My birthday was hard. He always called, every year and sang to me on my birthday.  I cried all morning, waiting for the phone call I knew would never come.  Valentines Day came and went with no flowers from my dad.  Father's Day, July Fourth, his favorite holiday, his Wedding anniversary, Thanksgiving, and now Christmas.  The year of "firsts" is over.  New Year's Day will mark the beginning of the year of "seconds".  I'm hoping this year will be a little easier.

I know my dad still lives. I know he watches over me. I know he will one day be resurrected and I will be able to see him again.  I know that.